


my strings are unstrung

by sincereously



Series: Valentines Rare Pairs Week 2020 [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincereously/pseuds/sincereously
Summary: “Elaena said, in her later years, that it wasn't his intelligence that made her love Ser Michael, but his love of music. He was known to play the harp for her...”- The World of Ice and FireElaena, Michael, and a moment of music.
Relationships: Michael Manwoody/Elaena Targaryen
Series: Valentines Rare Pairs Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628242
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	my strings are unstrung

**Author's Note:**

> For the Valentines Rare Pairs Week on Tumblr - day 3, dancing.

As much as Elaena loved Michael Manwoody, sometimes he was the most inconvenient man in all of Westeros. Here she was, up to her ears in figures that hadn’t been reckoned since gods-knew-when, and he sauntered into her study with his harp like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“The least you could have done was brought a pen to help me out,” she muttered. Drat, that sum didn’t match the one on the debt sheet. She rubbed out the numbers and started again.

Michael smiled serenely and folded his long limbs into her favorite chair, balancing his harp on his knee. “Love, I’ve tried to help you out before. That usually ends with me fleeing for my life. I’m going to stick to what I’m good at,” he said, gently petting the harp.

That got a snort out of her, almost entirely against her will. Michael knew very well how good he was at any number of things. "All right," she said, "but try not to be too distracting." She totaled up her calculation and grinned. One done, only a thousand more to go.

Michael nodded, with an expression of wide-eyed innocence that was just a little too perfect to be believable. He pulled back his long dark hair in a length of ribbon - she had never known a man more careful of his appearance than Michael - and delicately ran his fingers along the strings of the harp. The glissando sent a bit of a shiver up Elaena's spine, although she wasn't sure if it was the music or the skill of his hands that - _no, Elaena, focus._ Michael didn't notice, or pretended he didn't notice, and started a song, a bright tune that still fell into a easy rhythm.

“What’s that?” she asked, adding another piece of parchment into the “Inventory” pile on her desk. “Something new?” Michael composed sometimes, and Elaena had often fallen asleep to the sound of him trying out measures of music.

“No,” he replied, picking up the tempo. “It’s an alarante, from Braavos. I had Amaro Reyaan – you remember, the keyholder, the fat man who always wore those gaudy green earrings? – I had him send me the music.”

“I remember him,” she said, leaning back in her chair and putting her hands behind her head. Another memory came up too, from much farther back. Septa Neva, one of the women who’d been sent to mind her and her sisters in their confinement, had grown up in Braavos in the sight of the Sept-beyond-the-Sea. To the faces of Baelor and his spies, she was suitably mild and demure, but when they were alone Neva had taught Elaena the songs and dances of her childhood, humming just a little-off key and twirling Elaena around the room until they were both breathless and giggling. Baelor had found out eventually, of course, and promptly sent her away, but sometimes Elaena hoped Neva was still out there dancing, wherever she was.

"You're thinking hard," Michael said, still not taking his eyes from his instrument.

"Just memories."

He hesitated a moment. "Good memories?" It was a question that Elaena hated that people still had to ask.

"These are. You know this song has a dance that goes with it?"

"I'd heard," Michael said, taking a moment to tune a note, "but I didn't know how it goes." He hesitated. "Do you know it?"

Elaena looked down at her parchment. There were still dozens of accounts left to balance, but..."Well, it's a partnered dance. You stand close together," she said, holding out her index fingers to demonstrate, "and there's a step-turn, step-turn for the first four measures, until the tempo quickens."

Michael began the song again, but somehow sprightlier this time.

"There's a longer step after that, and then two more back," she continued. She found herself stretching her arm out further and further to represent the dancing couple, and she was nearly stepping out of her chair.

"The time signature changes here," Michael added, starting to sway his head to match the new beat.

"It's more of a leap when that happens," she said, and she found herself doing that very leap, following the demands of the music. As Michael played she continued to dance, her skirt flaring around her at the tight spins, faster and faster as the harp built up its pace. Michael was so tall and she was so short that they looked a little absurd dancing together, but she couldn't help but imagine them doing these turns together, his hands on her back.

"And that's where he'd lift you up," she said as Michael hit the key change. Without a partner, she made do by jumping ungracefully into the air, which drew a bark of laughter from Michael. She started laughing too, and even more as she repeated the jump thrice more, until they both found it hard to breathe and Michael had to stop playing.

When the laughter had subsided a bit, though, she caught sight of his smile, just a touch more of a smirk than she would have liked.

“You sly rat," she said, lightly rapping him on the shoulder. "You _were_ trying to distract me.”

“I wasn’t!” he protested. At her glare, he amended it to, “Well, maybe a bit. You really have been working a lot, though.”

“I can handle my work,” she snapped.

“I never thought you couldn’t," he said, his black eyes focused on hers. "I suppose I thought it would help if I could give you a bit of a break. I'm sorry."

Damn those eyes. She never could resist them. Her chest was still heaving a bit from the dancing and the laughter, and she felt like all the knots in her muscles from hunching at her desk had unwound themselves. Her head felt clearer and lighter than it had in hours, and so did her heart.

Damn that man. She loved him, but she hated it when he was right.

"Well," she said, "if I'm going to be dancing instead of working, I'll need a partner. Come on, up you get."

Michael broke into a grin. “Well, if I’m dancing, who’s going to play the harp?”

“I’ll sing the tune.” She caught his hand and tried to pull him up; he only resisted a moment before setting his harp down carefully and standing across from her, their hands lightly touching.

“Now what?”

“Like this,” she said as she drew closer to him, her head close to resting on his chest. “Try to keep up.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Always.”


End file.
